by F. E. Hubert
***
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Read on for a sample of the next part of the series.
Book of Magic
In the dungeon
Dun sighed with self-pity.
It seemed the wizard had more talent for scrying the future than he’d let on. The thought of the old man hurt, but a meagre smile touched his lips at the thought of what he would say about Dun’s current position. Something sharp, probably.
They’d taken him down into one of the cellars, cut out of the rocks below the keep sometime long past and forgotten. He hung upside down over a hole that led deeper into the interior of the rock. Deep down, judging by the moist chill that rose up from the dark void. The sides of the crevice slanted smoothly down, as if water had one flowed through it and rounded the sides.
The rope binding his ankles together was pulled through a ring in the ceiling, directly above the pit. The guards that hung him over the pit left a couple of counts of hundred ago. His blood accumulated in his head, making his ears pound. His sigh sounded like an unhealthy rasp.
He looked around the cellar. Most of it was too dark to see, leaving him the circle lit by the single torch in the wall. If he looked up, he could just see the orange firefly of the flame’s reflection on the ring that held him up. His hands were left unbound, but they took the knife from his boot. He looked at the hole that was above and below him at the same time. If he managed to find something sharp enough to cut the rope, he still had to think of a way not to drop the-gods-knew-how-far down into the dark pit.
He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. There had to be a way out. After a while, the rats returned, their gleaming eyes studied what they hoped would be their next dinner.
The day it started
It all started some time earlier. One day at the end of winter, when the frost retreated for the first time, a short-lived herald of spring to come.
The track in the snow led toward the valley, leaving deep imprints where the snow lay thick in the hollows of the path. Only one horse was a good sign, but he approached with care, taking the high route along the cliff. Even if it wasn’t one of the new lord’s men, that didn’t mean Vera waited for him. Anyone could have passed here in the long winter months and taken shelter against the sleet and winds.
On top of the ridge he halted, looking out over the expanse of snow crusted treetops that stretched into the distance in every direction. A bird up in the trees sang its heart out in the pale light of early morning. He couldn’t see it, but when he pushed his way through the undergrowth too close for comfort, the musical tremor fell silent. “Be right out of your feathers, little one.”
The sun climbed above the horizon and did its best to warm the air. A month of solid snows might still follow, but for now Dun sniffed the cold air and almost remembered what spring smelled like. Down in the dale was the cave where Vera and he spent many of their childhood summer days.
He hoped she would be there. The last time they spoke was at the beginning of winter, it felt like forever. But it was early in the year and that would make it hard for her to leave the keep without a detachment of guards. Hunger ruled men’s minds and animals’ stomachs long after the sun arrived and warmed the earth, a dangerous time for a lady to go out riding alone. And maybe she didn’t want to come out and meet him. His face flushed remembering that afternoon last fall, when Solis and his men chased him from the village.
He lay down on his stomach and shuffled the last centimetres to look out over the dale beneath. The stone edge stuck out a ways into the air, giving him a good view of the land below. The stream that ran down the cliffs and through the valley reflected the sunlight in frozen twinkles that lit its bends. Only where it spouted out between the stone halfway up the cliff, did the water reach the surface in its liquid form. It ran fast and deep all the way down to the river, some way down in the main valley. In the silence he could make out a faint roar where the river plunged through the gorge. The white blanket that covered most of the world was undisturbed, save for the single track running down the low path into the dale and over the crest that hid the cavern from his sight. He made his way along the cliff to the other side of the waterfall, lowering himself from the last foothold.
Young for his height, he was tall enough that most men wouldn’t be catching up with him, no matter how long they lived to try. Dun promised to be a real bear of a man and he already had the facial growth to go with it. Kept in check while he lived at Dungarr keep, now the ruddy fundamentals of a full beard adorned his chin and cheeks.
He approached the mouth of the cave, crouching down in the cover of the hollow that provided natural stabling for a horse or donkey. The horse droppings were at least a day old and the interior of the cave exuded the silence of emptiness. Both disappointed and more than a little curious, he stepped inside. Down the right side of the cavern the walls formed a natural chimney, leading the smoke through channels and crevices out into the rocks of the cliff. They tried to find where it exited, to see if the smoke led a trail back to them, but Dun had never found more than a faint whiff of wood smoke. As far as hiding places went, it was the best.
The ashes in the circle of stones were cold, but fresh enough to still hold sharp edges. Standing in the dark chamber, he looked around. Nothing out of place, beside the remains of the fire.
Or. There, at the edge of stones that ringed the fire, was an odd stone; cream coloured, with a grey seam curving across one side. Not a stone he’d choose to ring a fire. He knelt beside it. It looked clean, cleaner than the rest of the cave that was covered in a delicate layer of dust and soot. He poked it out from between the wall and its ash-stained neighbour, tossed it up and caught with his other hand. Just an ordinary rock. He almost missed the note in the dim.
The daylight outside showed the angular scribbles of Vera’s handwriting. Her father, the former lord of the keep, let Dun to take lessons with his daughter and his effortless, smooth curls and even lettering frustrated her to no end. She threw an inkwell at his head only last summer. He smiled at the memory as he read the message.
Too dangerous to stay longer. Meet me the first day after the new moon.
Vera.
Sad that the next story isn’t about Mufroen? Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon in Sword in the City.
Titles by F.E. Hubert
Tales of Mufroen and Dun
Sword of the Sands
Book of Magic
Sword in the City
Isles of Krake
Available soon:
Dog’s blade
Swords and Magic (Tales of Mufroen and Dun 1-5)
Land of imagination
Dark Temple
Available soon:
Cosmic justice
Haunted
You can contact F.E. Hubert through his email address: [email protected] or his Facebook page: www.facebook.com/Hubertwrites
